More Than You'll Say
by Rosalina
Summary: DH SPOILERS! READ NO FURTHER! What is George when he's not Fred and George? Takes place in the few days after the final battle. OneShot. Leave a review!


**This is probably a OneShot. I couldn't stop thinking about how George would work without Fred, and this is what I came up with. Let me know what you think.**

**-Rosa**

Someone pulling on his arm, someone yelling his name. They're trying to tell him it's Fred, it's Fred, but he already knows. He knew the moment it happened. How can they think he doesn't know, didn't feel? They think he didn't feel it when at the first moment it hit him so hard that he thought he was

_-dead I'm dead they killed me-_

and that was okay. Being dead didn't hurt. Being dead was… he opened his eyes to see what being dead was like. It looked just like being alive, he thought, slowly standing up. He knew he wasn't alive, though, because he felt – or rather, he couldn't feel – something…what…

That's when he knew.

And now they're pulling him into the Hall where he sees Fred, yes, that's Fred. It's not, though. It's just a thing that looks like Fred

_-like me-_

but it's not Fred. Fred's…

_-in me.-_

Yes. But it went both ways, didn't it? They had talked about that once. That it wasn't like people thought, he's Fred and I'm George. It was more like, each of us is half Fred and half George, both of them in each body. And that wasn't quit it either, but it was the closest they came to describing it aloud.

So when he looks down at the Fred laid out on the table, he thinks of that.

_-Fred isn't gone. Half of Fred is gone, and half of George. I am still Fred and George.-_

It seems to be a good thought, and he clings to it as he kneels by the table and cries. No one seems to want to talk to him, though he feels a hand at times on his shoulder. Maybe they don't know what to say. Maybe they think they can't intrude on his grief. He wants to tell them that they needn't be so careful, but he can't think of a way to, and after a while it doesn't seem to be worth the effort. He cries for a long time.

When they take the Fred away he wants to say something again. This time he comes close to doing it. He raises his head and they pause to look at him and he tries to make his thoughts into a sentence. They are thoughts about him being half Fred still, and the one on the table being empty anyway, but suddenly he can't remember the last time he spoke without Fred standing beside him. He looks down, and the moment is gone, and they take away the body.

The next few days are strange and disorienting, and it takes him a long time to figure out what is happening to him. In fact, it is the day of the funeral when he finally understands. He wakes up alone, as he has every day since it happened, in a room that is obviously meant for two people.

He dreamed of Fred last night. He dreamed that he was talking to Fred, laughing with him, and he wakes up crying.

He stands up, walks to the closet. Got to dress in black today. Remembering the black dragon-skin suits that he and Fred wore to Dumbledore's funeral, he smiles. They had bought those suits for Bill and Fleur's wedding, and they ended up wearing them to a funeral. It isn't funny, but he smiles as he grabs his own pants and tosses Fred's pair over his shoulder, only realizing what he has done when the pants hit the floor with a soft _flump_.

_-Because Fred's not there.-_

Yes. But the thing is, he _knows _that. He didn't forget. He had known it as he grabbed Fred's pants off the hanger.

_-I'm going crazy, then.-_

But that isn't it, either.

He is getting a rather foolish feeling, one that reminds him of Apparition Lessons in sixth year. Over and over they had turned hopefully on the spot, over and over they had ended up feeling let down and silly when nothing happened. That is how he feels now, looking at Fred's pants in the middle of the floor.

Then he remembers something else, an incident a few years ago when his dad had been assigned to deal with a particularly nasty set of cursed wristwatches which, when worn for more than one hour, caused the victim's arm to come off. Mr. Weasley had told sad stories of meeting with a man unlucky enough to have lost both arms, and the story the ministry had had to provide him with after his memory was modified. The bit of the story that had always stuck with him, though, was his dad's description of how the man kept trying to reach for objects, tie his shoes, and even lean on his missing arms, expecting them to work even after he knew that they were gone.

_-And now I'm trying to-_

What? Use Fred like an arm, like he's part of my body?

_-Part of me.­-_

Yes. That was it. Because that was how it had been, when Fred was there. They had worked like two parts of the same person. And now…

_-How, how do they expect me to do this, I can't, Fred, I can't-_

He cries curled into a ball, with his face pressed into his knees. He cries because even if Fred is in him, he will never hear Fred's voice again, will never hear him laugh. He cries and he knows Fred will never, ever be there to comfort him, and who is George without the Fred and?

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